Too Frail To Wake This Time
by isawrightless
Summary: The death of a son.


Maria is finally asleep, curled up into a ball on his side, taken by exhaustion. The clean lines of dried tears stain her face, he runs a hand through her hair, she stirs a bit. She's still the most beautiful woman in the world to him, and it's a second, one tiny second he allows himself to contemplate that. Contemplate his wife, the wrinkles on her forehead which she hates, but he thinks it's cute; his are much worse. But he loves hers, loves her hair, no longer black, loves all the indications that they have, in fact, grown old. He tilts his head to the side, just enough to catch the way her nose crinkles in her sleep, the shadow of a smile on his lips. They've grown old together. He dwells on that, admires her strength for putting up with him for so long.

And then he breaks.

There's something inside his chest, blocking all the air, making him want to claw at his skin, rip his own heart out. He can hear it beating, wishes he could trade, and the pain is too great, he needs air, he can't breathe in here, can't stand his own skin. Careful not to disturb Maria, he gets up and walks out, a hand on his chest to hold his heart in case it falls off, tries to take into the night's scent, but it's impossible, he can't do it. All he can afford to be right now is a sobbing mess of languid flesh, one who's seen and felt too much, but nothing like this.

Because his son is dead.

And how pathetic it is to say it, 'dead', Sef is dead, it sounds ridiculous, unreal. To live in a world where his son no longer exists, to be alive when his son isn't, to be able to cry, to not breathe and still live when his son is only capable of the former.

He cries, shuts his eyes, memories run through his brain. There's Sef as a newborn, a messy little thing, being cleaned and placed in his arms, kicking the air with his tiny feet, wailing with powerful lungs.

Images shift, Sef learns how to walk, goes from Maria to Altair on unsteady feet. Then he's four years old, playing with Darim in the garden, running from one side to another, waving his wooden sword in the air. They bump into Malik, who is always in charge of watching the boys when they play outside, and there's laughter, Sef yells, 'run, Darim! Uncle Mal will get us!' and when Malik does get them, tickling Sef under his arms and holding Darim back from running away by stepping on his over sized tunic with his left foot, the laughter only gets louder, resulting in tears of happiness in both of the boys eyes. Altair laughs at that, too, but his throat hurts, his eyes burn, and he remembers Sef's fear of thunderstorms, and he swears he can count all the nights he spent covering Sef's ears, making sure he'd fallen asleep, only to cover Maria's because she was terrified of it as well. Still is.

In his mind, Sef is now a young man, he's found someone, they're in love, he tells Altair he's going to be a grandfather, and his heart fills with pride. Sometime later he's got two little girls to call granddaughters, they love to run around and destroy things in their clumsiness, they love their uncle Darim and Darim loves them right back. Maria braids their hair, teaches them about sword fighting and the best way to beat up boys. Altair reads them stories, tells them over and over again how he became the Grand Master. They leave, Sef has his own home after all, but it feels right.

Then it's their last hug. Maria promises she won't cry, but when the time comes to leave him behind, she can't stop sobbing into his chest. He's so much taller than she, and he smiles, says 'it will be all right, mother, no need to worry.' She nods, Darim takes over, steals a hug, teases him about being a family man only to run away from the fight, they laugh. Altair puts a hand on Sef's shoulder, looks straight into his eyes, sees the good in them, and without any reservations brings his boy into his arms. As if Sef is but a tiny baby again, his heart skips a beat, Sef tightens the embrace and then they break apart.

These memories are locked inside, such fragile things.

Altair feels his gut twist, his hands shake, cold sweat cover his skin and he bends over, empties his stomach onto the ground, wipes his mouth with the back of his hand and looks up at the moon, wishes Darim to return safely.

Wonders if he's a good father, one good enough to make sure his sons know how much he loves them, because his love has not died and he loves Sef in the present, at this moment, with every cell in his body.

He takes a deep breath.

Goes back to Maria.


End file.
